


Philoposía

by DachOsmin



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Hazing, Humiliation, Intoxication, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Fixation, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Talked to Orgasm, Voyeurism, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: Zagreus sits down in the wine god’s lap at an Olympian feast and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Dionysus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 457
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Philoposía

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Croik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/gifts).



Shortly after the Underworld’s reconciliation with Olympus, a letter arrived at the House of Hades, written on gold-embossed parchment and stamped with the seals of all nine Olympian gods and goddesses. Lord Zagreus, the son of Lord Hades and Lady Persephone, styled Prince of Hell, was cordially invited to a feast to be held in the halls of Lord Zeus, whereupon he would be able to converse freely with his newfound relatives and be welcomed properly into the family.

“Are you going to go?”

Zagreus looked up from the parchment and raised an eye at Thanatos. “I had intended to. It seems like a poor choice to spurn them, after all the trouble we’ve gone to making amends.”

“Hmm.”

Zagreus frowned; Thanatos was glaring at the letter as if it were a venomous snake. He folded the parchment carefully and set it aside. “Do you think I shouldn’t go?”

Thanatos refused to meet his eyes. “Go, if you wish. Just… don’t drink too much of the wine. “

Zagreus couldn’t hold back a snort. “I’m not a child, Than. I can hold my own.”

Thanatos’ mouth thinned into an unhappy line. “Of course you can.”

***

On the appointed day, Zagreus made his way to Olympus in his best chiton, with his hair curled within an inch of its life and his stomach filled with butterflies.

Hermes met him at the entrance of the palace and led him to the banquet hall while chattering a mile a minute about this and that; Zagreus let the monologue wash over him without managing to pay any particular attention to the individual words.

Gods, why was he so nervous?

“—and in any case, it’ll all be fine in the end,” Hermes said. “Remember that.”

Zagreus smiled. Of course it would. It was just a banquet, that was all. No need to blow things out of proportion.

Hermes smiled in return and ushered him towards an arch in the wall. “Right through here.”

Zagreus peered inside. Despite the dim light of the candelabras, he could easily make out the Olympian gods lounged on a series of couches. Their laughter tinkled like glass as they plucked food from golden dishes and sampled dark wine from goblets chased in silver.

Zagreus pushed down the butterflies in his stomach as he watched them. This was his family; these halls were his birthright by blood. Summoning his courage, he took a step forward into the hall.

Conversation ceased immediately. One by one glasses and plates were silently lowered, and suddenly every eye in the room was turned to him, expectant. As if the gods were waiting for him to do something.

Zagreus paused in the doorway. What—?

Oh. But of course. The couches. There were nine of them arrayed about the central table, each one upholstered in fine fabric. Each of them occupied. Zagreus scanned the room again, to make sure he hadn’t missed an empty couch, or failing that a chair. Even some little three-legged stool tucked away in a corner somewhere would have sufficed. But there was nothing. Either he’d have to kneel on the floor like a slave, or pick one of the other gods to share a couch with.

They wouldn’t hold his seating choice against him, would they? Zagreus’ heart sank. Oh, but they absolutely would. Damn it, this was like choosing boons again. What vengeance would be enacted by the gods he scorned? A drink in his face? Or something worse?

Swallowing, Zagreus looked around the room, surveying his options. Zeus and Poseidon were right out: if he picked either of them, he’d never hear the end of it from the other, not to mention his father’s reaction it. He dismissed Hermes, Athena, and Artemis out of hand for the sin of being too nice to hold a grudge against him for passing over them. Next he dispensed with Ares, Aphrodite, and Demeter; sitting with any of the three for an entire party would be excruciating, albeit for very different reasons. 

That left Dionysus. Zagreus considered his interactions with the god. He hadn’t seemed a bad fellow. There were certainly worse people to pass the time with. And the choice could hardly offend the others; this was practically Dionysus’ domain. Surely no one would take umbrage at Zagreus choosing to honor the god of revels at a revel.

Mind made up, he threaded his way through the room until he reached Dionysus’ couch and gingerly sat himself down on the plush velvet by the god’s side.

The other gods released their breaths in a sigh as he sat down, and one by one they began to reach for their goblets again. Conversation began to pick up. Here and there he could just make out a word or two, punctuated by a low laugh or a breathy chuckle: “—should be interesting—”, “oh, _wonderful_ —“, “—put on a show, I think—”

“Zag man!” Dionysus boomed. “Awesome to have you with me tonight! But what’s with the cold shoulder? You can’t reach the table if you’re sitting all the way down there; that’s no good, no good at all.”

Before Zagreus could respond that it was fine, really, Dionysus was grabbing him and yanking him bodily into his lap.

He tried to pull away, attempting to ease himself off the god’s lap and back onto the couch. “Really, it’s not necessary—"

“None of that,” Dionysus laughed as he wrapped a sinewed forearm around Zagreus’ chest and yanking him backwards so that his back was pressed firmly against Dionysus’ chest. Zagreus struggled for a moment, more for form’s sake than anything else, but Dionysus held him in place like a vise. Dionysus dwarfed him; his arm was as thick around as Zagreus’ waist. Zagreus couldn’t have pulled free if he tried.

“None of that,” Dionysus said, smacking him playfully on his bare thigh. “You’re more comfortable this way, see?”

Zagreus wasn’t exactly _un_ comfortable: Dionysus’ thighs were a firm seat, and his chest was broad and tall enough that leaning back, Zagreus could rest his head against the god’s bare pectorals. The scent of Dionysus engulfed him: a heady mix of wine and musk. And the god’s skin was pleasantly warm where it touched his own.

But still, Zagreus couldn’t help but feel awkward. To begin with, the position made clear how much smaller he was than Dionysus and the other Olympians. He felt tiny, utterly dwarfed in Dionysus’ lap. And further, something about the position made him feel terribly exposed, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that all the other Olympians were stealing glances at him and sharing sly grins with each other while he wasn’t looking. Was this some sort of test, to see if he could bear a bit of indignity? If it was, he resolved he’d pass it; he’d suffered worse.

His mind made up, he leaned back against Dionysus’ chest and resolved to survive the feast.

He quickly realized that he was going to have an unpleasantly sober time of it; for all Dionysus’ concern that he hadn’t been able to reach the table from the end of the couch, he couldn’t reach it from Dionysus’ lap, either. With a sigh, he resigned himself to watching the others eat and drink.

Above him, Dionysus tutted. “I’m not going to leave you hanging, man.” Leaning over Zagreus, he reached down to the table to heft a goblet the size of Zagreus’ head, filled to the brim with inky black wine. Carefully, he brought it to Zagreus’ lips. “All yours.”

Hesitantly, Zagreus leaned in to take a tiny sip, just enough to whet his lips. Oh gods, it was delicious. Sweet and tart, bitter and dark, like nothing he’d ever tasted. He swallowed, relishing the coolness of the wine going down his throat, and the pleasant heat it kindled in his belly.

Dionysus laughed. “Zag man, you can do better than that! Have some more!”

Zagreus wavered. Than had said not to drink too much of the wine, and he hadn’t eaten anything yet—but Dionysus was already lifting the goblet to his lips again.

“I really shouldn’t—"

Wine flooded his mouth, and somehow it tasted even better this time. With a silent apology to Than, he gulped at the wine, reveling in the vibrance of the flavors and the way it filled him up.

“Good,” Dionysus purred. Rough fingers caressed his throat. “Swallow it down, just like that.”

He did as he was bid, shuddering at the feel of Dionysus’ rough calluses grazing the sensitive skin of his neck. A wave of dizziness struck him as the wine hit his empty stomach. The warmth in his stomach was matched by a second warmth, this one lower in his gut.

“Very good,” Dionysus murmured again, and offered him another drink.

They continued that way for a time, Zagreus quaffing the wine as Dionysus murmured praise hot against the shell of his ear, pausing every now and then to offer lingering touches of his neck, his shoulder, his arm. The party went on around them, but Zagreus couldn’t pay attention to what the other Olympians were saying. He was too distracted by the buzzing in his ears and the heat in his stomach. He felt as if he could slip from his body, float up into the ether, save for the steady weight of Dionysus holding his body down.

Occasionally Dionysus would jump into the conversation with a quip or a spate of laughter, and Zagreus could feel the sound vibrate through him where their bodies touched. And through it all Dionysus’ arm was a brand against his chest, holding him snugly in place.

Suddenly he felt it: the insistent jut of a cock against his ass. He squirmed, embarrassed, and Dionysus let out a gasp that he felt in the marrow of his bones. “Careful there, or you’ll get me so worked up I won’t be able to help myself.”

“What?” Zagreus asked weakly, trying to keep the room from spinning.

“Wiggle your ass like that again and I’ll just have to have you, right here on the table. I’d reach out and shove the plates and goblets out of the way to clear a space for you, little man.”

“No,” Zagreus gasped. “I don’t want—"

“Oh, but I think you do, waltzing in here with your short little chiton, showing off your thighs to the world. You’re a god after all; you were dying for someone to worship you. And I am so happy to help out.”

To that, Zagreus could only whimper. His cock was fattening, he realized with dawning horror. Something in him delighted in the lewd whispers of the wine god, and the utter certainty that Dionysus was big and strong enough to make a plaything of him if he wanted to, to use him in any way he wished.

A low chuckle; Dionysus had definitely noticed his cockstand. “I can tell you want my cock, Zag, and I would love to oblige. I’d shove you onto the table, head down and that pretty little ass up in the air.” He curled his hand around Zagreus’ thigh, slipping it higher, higher, until his fingertips brushed the hem of Zagreus’ chiton. The drag of his callouses against the sensitive flesh there drew another gasp from Zagreus before he could bite his tongue. Gods, he shouldn’t be encouraging this!

“After I got you onto the table,” Dionysus continued blithely, “I’d flip this little thing out of the way so that you were bare for everyone to see. The more the merrier, eh?”

Fuck, the mere thought of it, to be utterly exposed like that to all of the Olympians… he shuddered, blood pounding in his cock. The room spun about him: the glitter of cups filled with wine, the laughing faces of the other gods. Tongues wet lips, hands slipped beneath chitons, eyes glittered as they watched, and watched, and watched.

“Wouldn’t want you to get cold on the table, so we’d heat that skin right up,” Dionysus added, punctuating his words with a rough slap to the meat of Zagreus’s thigh, sending a jolt of arousal to his cock. “I’d spank you ‘til you were redder than Falernian grapes on the vine, and just as sweet. I’d spank you until you were squirming against the table, begging me to fuck you.”

Gods, he could just picture it: the smack of Dionysus’ hands against his ass, the pain-pleasure of it, the heat of his skin and the weight of the other Olympians’ eyes on him…

Dionysus pulled his hand away from his thigh and Zagreus sagged, relieved at the respite and mourning the loss despite himself. But then Dionysus was picking up the goblet of wine and bringing it to Zagreus’ mouth again. Zagreus tried to turn away, but Dionysus grasped his head with his other hand and held it in place, implacable, as he tilted the goblet back once again. Zagreus’ mouth flooded with the dark wine and he choked, the wine spilling out to dribble down his face and splash onto his bare chest and thighs below.

Dionysus tutted. “Now, now, you’ve made a mess.” Setting the goblet down, he reached up to wipe away the excess wine on Zagreus’ face, and then brought his dripping fingers to rest playfully on Zagreus’ lips.

“Suck,” he murmured, breath hot against the shell of Zagreus’ ear.

Zagreus opened his mouth to protest, and then the fingers were pressing in. They were big, big enough to fill his mouth and provide a heavy weight on his tongue, and sweet, tasting of the heady wine. He whimpered as he hollowed his cheeks, suckling instinctively at the god’s fingers.

It hit him that he was still in public, that all the other gods could see him like this, made wanton and sluttish in the wine god’s lap. His cock was hard and aching in his lap and his chiton had been woven of the thinnest linen. Why, it was already tented with his cockstand, and any more excitement would lift it away from his lap so that his thighs and bollocks would be on full display to anyone who cared to look his way, as if he were no better than a common courtesan.

Why did the thought arouse him further?

A hand skimmed up the side of his exposed rib cage, the touch of finger pads feather-light over his skin. He felt a sudden pinch at the peak of his nipple and he’d have cried out at the shock of it, except his mouth was still stoppered with Dionysus’ other fingers. His jaw was aching with the stretch of their intrusion by now, his eyes were beginning to tear up, and his cheeks were well reddened with wine and shame in equal measure. He glanced down to see that his leaking cockhead had made a splotch of precum in the center of his tented chiton. He looked around desperately. Maybe the other gods wouldn’t notice?

A low chuckle. “Oh, they notice, Zag. And they like what they see. They’d all for sure love to get a taste of you tonight; you’re a sweeter drink than nectar. But you sat on _my_ lap, and I aim to have my fill before anyone else gets a taste.”

Zagreus wanted to protest: he hadn’t known that picking a couch meant _this_ , he’d had no idea—! But all the words of protest were plugged inside him by Dionysus’ thick fingers, now pumping leisurely in and out of his mouth.

Dionysus made a thoughtful noise. “So, where were we? Oh yes: you face down on the table, ass up in the air and beaten a pretty red. Next… let’s see, next, I’d move your legs nice and wide apart, get you arranged just the way I liked on the table, so that everyone would have a nice view of that pretty pink hole of yours. And then…” he popped his fingers out of Zagreus’ mouth and reached out to the table to dip them in the wine again. “Then I’d dip my fingers in the wine, just like so.” He flicked the wine in Zagreus’s face. “And then I’d start playing with your pretty little asshole, get it nice and wet and slick.”

Zagreus shut his eyes, whimpering as Dionysus’ fingers fucked his mouth, but there was no escaping the filth the god was dripping in his ear. He was trapped, with nowhere to go, his cock now achingly hard.

“Then I’ll pour more wine between your cheeks until it’s dripping down your thighs to puddle on the floor, until you’re sopping, wetter than Aphrodite’s cunt.”

Zagreus trembled in place; the feel of nothing but the kiss of linen against his cock was torture. His hips had started making tiny abortive jerks as he sought desperately for stimulation on his cock. He wanted nothing more than to take himself in hand, fuck his fingers until he came. But the Olympians were watching, he couldn’t, he couldn’t…

“I’ll lick you open, suck the wine from your hole before fucking you on my tongue until you’re begging, shoving yourself back on me like it’s all you want in the world, you wet little slut.”

He didn’t want it, he didn’t, oh but he did. He was moaning and squirming in the wine god’s lap, hard as a bronze spear shaft just from words alone. He wanted to be used, he wanted to be thrust face down on the table and tongue-fucked until he was begging for a cock, the mere thought had him aching for it.

“You’d be so good for me as I opened you up, holding your cheeks apart, your thighs trembling with how much you wanted me. I’d go easy, start out with a finger maybe, fuck you open nice and gentle, easing the way with a bit more wine. You’d be stretched out nice and good by then; you’d be a mess, a needy, begging mess desperate for my cock.”

“And how could I resist you like that? I’d take pity then and give you the good fucking you deserved. And then you’d learn what it’s like to take a god’s cock.”

It was too much: the wine, the filth, the watching eyes—with a muffled scream he came untouched, his head slammed back against Dionysus’ chest, his back arched, his hips spasming as he jerked up into the air, his cock spraying ropes of come across his thighs and ruining his chiton.

As he slumped back, utterly spent, Dionysus laughed, deep and heady as the wine. “Welcome to the family,” he said. “Now: would you like something to eat?”


End file.
